


We do not belong together (and we should have belonged together)

by airafleeza



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airafleeza/pseuds/airafleeza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sex,” Steve forced out. “We're talking about sex.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We do not belong together (and we should have belonged together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Hello friends!
> 
> So, I wrote this fic well over a year ago. I was very inspired while reading over an ace!Stucky rec list by [Becka](http://captsrgnt.tumblr.com/) at the time. Unfortunately, I am very slow at editing and building up my courage to post! I struggled a lot with this, mostly because I wanted to do justice by the characters and relationship I care so much about, as well as the subject being discussed here! As someone who identities as ace, writing about my orientation in a positive way is kind of a big (and intimidating) deal.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, beta-ed, and let me rant! [Jannet](http://jannet-bird.tumblr.com), [Becka](http://captsrgnt.tumblr.com/), and [Kami](http://msaether.tumblr.com)— this wouldn't have happened without you three!

The notion struck Steve one day when Bucky was pulling himself together for a date. Bucky, who was grinning like a dope, nose practically pressed to the mirror as he tried to catch all the pesky hairs his pomade-covered hands had missed. It was then that Steve suspected: they weren’t the same.

Of course they weren’t, he knew. Anyone could tell from a mile away. And there was _nothing_ wrong with Bucky. Frustrating sometimes, sure, like when they both knew Steve was wrong and too far gone stubborn to turn back and admit it. But Bucky always gave it his all and then some— a general sort of work ethic carried with him everywhere. Steve couldn’t for the life of him ever recall his best friend making a girl cry, not even his sisters. Not even the ones who deserved it— and whether he’d admit it or not, Bucky had definitely come across a few of this sort. He’d just apologize in his “aw shucks” sort of way— crooked grin and all.

That was another problem: Bucky always gave better than he got. Suffering through awful jobs, overbearing landlord lectures, bad dates— anything, compromising in ways Steve never could. Especially, Steve reflected, when it came to someone he liked.

It didn’t matter if they stepped on his toes. Sometimes Steve would watch Bucky’s injured expression turn into a smile so his clumsy partner wouldn’t know her heel had gotten him, and Steve would let his mind wander around the idea of finding someone who would do the same for him.

But, Steve was fine with not throwing himself out there. He didn’t care about dates like Bucky did, and didn’t want to waste the energy it would take to pretend that he did.

Bucky, who would come home with lipstick on his collar and mussed up clothes. Bucky, who on countless occasions looked drunk off happiness, not cheap beer. Steve tried to imagine that for himself, what it must be like— to be missing something, to need… something. It was the contentment he felt that turned him off, though.

Steve was alright living in an apartment with his best friend. He was fine tagging along with Bucky’s coworkers and group of friends from school that had thinned out over the years as most of them got serious and started having families of their own. There was plenty that the two of them needed, a hell of a lot more that they wanted— but Steve never understood what drove Bucky out until he’d come home unexpectedly.

The two of them made plans to celebrate Pete from the docks’ engagement. Bucky’d been all teasing and jokes, but Steve could tell— there was a sadness there, a loss. Steve had resigned himself to acceptance: this was life. People eventually settled down, got married and didn’t plan to live with their best friend and grow gray together. This is how life progressed and everything was drawn into this linear path that Steve wasn’t sure he could fall into. He contemplated what this meant for his future, shutting out all the drunken shouts and hardly noticing when Bucky loomed into his sights and said he was going to head out.

“Hardly been here Barnes, ‘sides, who knows when we’ll get our boy out with the rest of us again, huh?” one of them spouted, throwing an arm around Pete and jostling him.

“Think I caught a bug.” Bucky’s eyes darted, Steve unable to see where his friend’s gaze was being pulled. Pete must have, grinning wickedly and telling Bucky to take care of himself. They’d catch him later.

Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder. “See you in a couple hours?”

Before Steve could open his mouth, a stranger’s arm took him captive, the owner slurring behind him a promise to take good care of Steve. If making Steve watch them drink was such, Steve was only under their watch for half an hour before figuring it was time to head home before the damp streets started to get slick from freezing over.

The moment he heard the soft thump of the headboard and a groan, Steve was drawn to their shared room and caught an eyeful: Bucky on his back, trousers shoved down to his knees. His legs, bent and accommodating as they cradled their houseguests’ hips. Steve couldn’t see her face— only the back of her head. But lying on top, her body moved in a pattern Steve didn’t understand— arching and contracting to complement Bucky’s movements as the bed squeaked. _He’s kissing her_ , he thought belatedly. The act sounded wet to Steve’s ears.

Lost in awe— like finding new territory, new land— Steve didn’t move out of sight until Bucky cupped her knee. She nudged his hand up onto her thigh, and it was like an agreement, Steve thought, that Bucky was allowed to go further, put his hand up her skirt and—

Steve bolted.

On his way out, he heard Bucky’s name muttered. He imagined those lips, soft and plush, and felt a twist in his gut when Bucky responded with a deep, throaty moan that managed to follow Steve even after he’d shut the front door. Steve resigned to waiting on the apartment’s stairs— cold be damned.

It only happened once, and Bucky apologized for a week straight for kicking him out when he found his miserable roommate in the morning. But once was more than enough for Steve to realize he didn’t want that— he didn’t feel that way.

 

* * *

 

Having his eyes opened did little to change his situation. Steve did, for awhile, put more effort in looking presentable for Bucky’s doomed-to-fail double dates. He avoided speaking, hoping the girls might play it off as an endearing shyness more crippling than it really was. He never knew what to say, anyway. Maybe, for the right girl, that switch would get hit and something would be set in motion. That’s what Bucky used to say— “there’s a girl out there for you somewhere,” he promised, “you just have to find her”.

But in the years between that night after the bar and finding out Bucky was being sent off to fight the good fight, the only thing that’d grown was his curiosity. Eventually, the vague sense of absence had bloomed into a different kind of need. Not the desperation, the clashing of two bodies he’d remembered seeing from years ago, but something of that caliber. He regretted for the first time, in this idle moment, that he was who he was.

One night in the barracks at Lehigh, he remembered the sounds of mouths moving, squelching with saliva, and he swallowed unsteadily. He didn’t want that, not quite, but—

All and all, he dreamed of a mouth that he refused to accept as Bucky’s. Laying in bed, his fingers pressed to his bottom lip and he tried not to imagine.

 

* * *

 

A band of handsy USO chorus girls, a private, and one Agent Peggy Carter later— and finally Bucky was standing there in front of him. A little worn with countless edges under his skin, but when he smiled for Steve— there was something so undeniably _Bucky_ about it. It’d taken decades of ice, it’d taken endless favors and SHIELD resources and so many miles, but those things were easily forgotten in the moments where Steve could wake up, grab a coffee, and remember he had to bring one back for his best friend or else risk catching an earful.

Months later and it wasn’t enough. This time, when that cavern made its appearance, Steve knew what he wanted and didn’t. Waking up in a world where he had even less to lose, he had picked up the laptop SHIELD issued him. Things were just settling down after the battle of New York and all he was left with was himself and idle hands. It’d taken several attempts to form the question in the search engine, talking himself out of it and closing the laptop more than once. Eventually, it became a dare to hit the enter key.

Steve found there were other people who felt the same: craving intimacy, but without the attraction that resulted in bodies pulling and thrusting, that movement he’d seen on a bed a lifetime ago. He was confused when he first read the word “asexual.” Steve thought that couldn’t be right because he was so damn lonely— but, he read on, it didn’t mean what he’d grown to define it as in school biology. He wasn’t a single unit, and no longer had to be now that Bucky was here and that should have been enough.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure who started it first. The important thing was that he was learning what it felt like to have Bucky’s mouth on his, and how if he thought about it, his spine tingled. The sweat they had accumulated during their training session cooled, making Steve shiver and Bucky gripped his shoulders tighter.

It must have been a few good minutes because Steve, capable of holding his breath for an ungodly amount of time, had to pull back to gasp. Bucky stopped, lips still puckered slightly— worry etched in the lines of his forehead as Steve jerked back, as though he’d done something wrong but he hadn’t— not at all, Bucky had only done something wonderful. Steve’s laugh interrupted whatever Bucky was thinking. His face having lost its tension, Bucky squeezed Steve’s bicep.

“Take it easy, big guy. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Steve felt the flush crawl up his face. It was just a press of lips, and it took all of his willpower to keep himself from hauling Bucky in by his tank top. It was starvation, it was the beginning of fulfillment as he gazed at Bucky’s face— the over-the-moon soppy expression that Steve must have caused, must have because he’s the only one here— and Steve brought their mouths together so he could keep that look there.

Bucky slid his hands down the length of Steve’s arms over the course of the kiss— Steve quickly learning the art of breathing and kissing in the hopes of never having to stop for as long as he’s with Bucky. Bucky’s thumbs, both flesh and metal alike, caressed the dimples in Steve’s wrist, checking his pulse.

“Making sure this is real,” Bucky murmured a bit, before adding: “and that my moves aren’t giving you a coronary.”

Steve made an unimpressed noise in the back of his throat.

 

* * *

 

Being responsible, however, meant accepting that just because two people loved each other didn't mean they ended up together. Love never meant they were right for each other, that the puzzle would just magically fall around them and lock everything into place. Love did not equate to a happy ending.

Because it couldn’t be a happy ending where Steve was uncomfortable with little noises that in his head had expectations.

(Steve could, if he really wanted to. Later bloomer though he was, he knew how to give Bucky what he wanted. What he didn’t know by experience first-hand, he could figure out the rest.)

Climbing off Bucky for the last time, Bucky released a little hiss as Steve’s clothes rubbed against his exposed and sensitive skin, arching into Steve slightly from where he was laid out. Steve sat at the edge of the bed. It hadn’t been enough, after this abrupt realization, to just try to distance himself slowly over the last couple weeks. Bucky had taken only the slightest of hints. Rather than ask if anything was wrong, he’d stopped initiating contact whenever Steve pulled away. But now he dared to sit next to Steve, knee bumping into his.

Taking note of the unease in the way Bucky sat, the tent in Bucky’s sweats and his dilated pupils, it was plain to see: he wasn’t the right one for Bucky Barnes.

Lowering his head, letting go of a heavy breath and everything else weighing down in his chest, Steve broke the silence. “I love you.”

It was an obvious statement to Steve’s ears. Bucky still responded with surprise, eyebrows raised.

“Hey,” Bucky’s expression settled. His arms, which had been tightly pressed to his torso, dropped. Body loosening and opening up, Bucky let himself touch Steve. His bare right arm wrapped around Steve’s clothed back. Breaking out a smile, Bucky’s voice was breathy in disbelief as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Hey, that’s great.”

Steve's brow furrowed. It wasn’t that easy— god, he wished it was. But nothing ever seemed to be that easy. Not for him.

“You don't... get it. Buck,” he sighed, letting the misery creep in. This was supposed to be it, and Steve swore he could see the end. “I love you, but we— can’t.”

“Is there— someone else?” Bucky tried, patient and puzzled. “Is it because I’m working for SHIELD? I know you left, but I can— Steve, I know you have your doubts but they’re working on it. I think I’m really helping—”

“No.” Steve rubbed his eyes. Working for SHIELD had settled better with Bucky than it had with Steve, who was mostly sticking to his work as an Avenger nowadays. Granted, Steve still worried, but keeping busy and contributing to something good was working wonders in Bucky’s recovery. Steve wanted nothing more than to retreat back to what they had, suck his words out of the room. He’d gotten this far, though. “It’s not any of that.”

Bucky’s arms fell away. “It’s gotta be me, then.”

The statement wasn’t a question like the rest, even if Steve thought it should be— the words were lower and uncharacteristically sure— unlike the nervous kisses Bucky would press on him. Nervous, a quality he’d never seen Bucky Barnes possess around any of the girls he hung around at the bar but seemed to come off in waves ever since their first kiss in the gym.

Forcing a smile, Steve leaned into Bucky’s space. Their thighs touching was enough to make Bucky refocus on him.

“Weren’t you listening? Said I love you, didn't I?”

“Course I was listening. Only been waiting to hear that my whole damn life.” Bucky shifted in his seat. “S’just that— back in the day, usually when two people loved each other, they do something about it, Steve. And if there’s nothing in the way— can’t think of a reason not to finally give this thing a shot.”

Jaw tightening, Steve wished Bucky only knew how well aware of this fact Steve was. Suddenly exhausted, he tried to push his thoughts along and not linger and spiral on Bucky’s accidental slip— _when two people loved each other_ —

His eyes closed, nails digging into the calluses on his palms. “I know, Buck. I do. I know.”

The silence stretched, and just as Steve thought it couldn’t get worse, that maybe Bucky was at a loss for words, Bucky tried again.

“I couldn't love you well back then. Not like I wanted to,” he offered uselessly, and it made Steve’s stomach drop. It was a slap in the face that Bucky too had suffered from that quiet and helpless affliction. “But we're here, now. Things are better.”

Bucky paused, looking at his left arm and one side of his mouth lifted. There was a touch of bitterness there. “Well, for the most part.” He turned to gauge Steve’s reaction, and whatever it was he was looking for he didn’t find. Shoulders lowering, a little defeated, Bucky continued. “It’d be one thing if you don't feel the same. I'd shut up if you didn't feel the same.”

“That’s not...” Steve struggled. He did and didn’t.

“Do I get to know why, then?” Bucky pressed his fingers into the corner of his eyes. Steve knew that old exhausted tick. “Why you think we can’t?”

“We just don’t fit.” Steve’s own words left him wanting to change— the second time in his life that the pride in who he was failed him. “It wouldn't... work.”

Bucky laughed, dry and brief. Slightly different from the self-deprecating one Steve hated to say he’d grown accustomed to, a reflection of Bucky’s new warped sense of humor. Bucky slid away from him on the bed, and for a second Steve thought _I deserve that_ , only to find Bucky making room to swing his legs back onto the mattress. Sitting crisscross, he faced Steve.

“You don’t get to— look, don’t I get a say in this? I've— since I was a kid, Rogers, I’ve known,” he ran his hands through his hair, the action all too familiar. Bucky, getting ready in the bathroom before going out. The stench of Bucky’s hands after using product and shoving his fingers under Steve’s nose just to tease him. Bucky, secretly worried and in love with Steve Rogers as he prepared a face of indifference for the night.

It was like getting ready for battle, for war. Strapping on handsome suspenders, slapping on shined shoes. Efficient, and the world and all its inhabitants were defenseless to the charm of Bucky Barnes back in the day. Now that Steve knew all this, looking at those years now created an ache in him.

Bucky pressed further. “You’re it for me. Whatever it is, whatever’s on your mind… we can— dunno, deal with it? Together?”

Gathering his thoughts, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “We just want different things.”

“Are you talking for the future? Because I don't care. Stevie, I don’t—”

 _—as long as I'm with you,_ he could imagine Bucky saying— knew the tune to this one all too well. Had known how Bucky played his cards far before the tendrils of this terrible affection twisted and made everything complicated, back when a touch was just a touch Steve didn’t think twice about, and looks were done out of necessity and not longing.

“Sex,” Steve forced out. “We're talking about sex.”

“I don't mind sleeping with fellas or dames,” Bucky reassured him with something that only reaffirmed his fears.

“That's the problem,” he breathed deeply, and _goddamit it,_ Steve thought. Watching Bucky struggle to come to terms with what Steve was saying— hoping Bucky would just take it at face value and ask no questions— he should’ve expected this. It was too touching, too painful to watch Bucky fight for them. Steve’s eyes closed, bracing. “I do mind— it’s me, okay? I don’t want you like that.”

Beside him, Steve heard the servomotors of Bucky’s arm come to life as Bucky pushed off the bed with a muttered, “should have just said something in the first place”. Feet glued to the floor, unable to go after him, Steve collapsed backwards onto the bed. Steve could still smell the faint traces of Bucky. His favorite pillow. Steve could give it back the next day, sneak it into Bucky’s room unless Jarvis was told to restrict his access. Unless Bucky came back for it himself.

Until then, he reached to pull it close, knees curling into his chest as he laid on his side. The effort was almost too much. Strategically positioned in the one spot still retaining Bucky’s body heat, Steve tried to sleep and not worry about what was next.

At two in the morning he woke, only hours later. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. He didn’t go back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The morning after wasn’t rough. Not that he should think of it as a morning after, Steve scolded himself, but in a way, that’s what it was. A break up, of sorts.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what they were. Partners? Best friends who knew how Steve’s neck was his weakness, and that Bucky liked lazy kissing on the couch with the television left on?

He supposed it was a combination. He supposed that what they had didn’t have a name, really.

Steve didn’t focus on how Bucky gave him space for the next few morning after’s. When he heard a knock of his door, he opened it, not expecting Bucky in the least. Bucky hadn’t knocked since he couldn’t remember when. Afraid to spook him, Steve held his breath and waited. He didn’t wait for long.

Bucky looked at his rope’s end, lack of sleep evident under his eyes. His five o’clock shadow looked a few days old, and he grabbed onto Steve’s door and held it in desperation, as if he expected it to close at a moment’s notice.

“If you don’t want to see me,” Bucky forced out. “I can—”

“No!” Steve promptly adjusted his tone into something less urgent. “No, it’s. Good to see you, Buck.”

“—I just. You’re here, and I’m here, and you’re still my best guy, right?” He caught himself, as though he was trying to rein something frantic in. “Always have been. My _best friend_ —”

“I am, I’m… Buck. I feel the exact same way,” Steve said, a little eager and doing his best impression of someone who didn’t want to drag Bucky into his arms and squeeze the sadness out of him— he looked so weighed down by it.

Bucky, caught off guard by his own smile, gave a shaky laugh and shook his head. Steve joined him, finding no other response to be more appropriate for the situation they’d managed to get themselves into.

“I just made some coffee.” Steve backed away from the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. An invitation.

This time, Bucky said no.

“But I will take that pillow back,” he added. “If you’ve got it.”

The disappointment wasn’t oppressive; Steve wouldn’t let it be. It was a start— another one— and it was more than he expected.

 

* * *

 

Things started to fall back into place.

Granted, there were many moments where Bucky would stare off and Steve would try not to draw attention to it. Eventually Bucky would excuse himself, and if they were amongst some of the less receptive housemates at Avengers Tower who hadn’t caught on something had changed between the two of them, they would pointedly ask Steve if something was wrong, and Steve only half-lied when he dismissed their concerns. They were getting better, they were going to be okay because at the end of the line there was nothing, and this at least was something.

The questions, the things left unsaid, sat in the room. They pressed against the wall and hovered above their heads, haunted Steve even when Bucky was gone.

Bucky tried to act like he wasn’t affected, but Steve saw the signs of it— tight smiles, always present with his body movements. Bucky no longer let his guard down and Steve regretted that most.

“I just need a little time,” Bucky would say, weary in his act.

Steve wondered what would have happened if he’d never said anything, if they’d be better. Because his own special brand of want was still there, persistent as always— only now paired with the worst kind of loneliness Steve had ever known— the kind he felt in a room full of people, and now around Bucky as well.

To say he and Bucky were suffering would be over the top. They still had each other. _That should be enough,_ he repeated to himself. Again and again like it’d fill the space between them.

 

* * *

 

Tony clapped his hands together, rubbing them eagerly. Bucky caught Steve’s gaze and rolled his eyes at Tony’s enthusiasm, winning a conservative smile from Steve.

“If you two can stop gazing into each other’s eyes, I’d like to get down to business,” Tony announced. Bucky took his time moving his eyes to the screen of the conference room, everyone being clumped together near the front to avoid giving Tony the opportunity to make Jarvis loudly project his voice to every corner of the room.

They thought he was joking last time, and to the horror of Steve and Bucky’s enhanced hearing, Tony Stark was not.

“Long story short,” Tony began, “we might have a break-in.”

“Hydra?” Natasha asked, not skipping a beat. Bucky was too preoccupied, waiting for Tony to continue, to see how Natasha checked in on him. But Steve saw how her eyes flickered in his direction and appreciated the question that was already on their minds.

“Too big to be Hydra, I’m thinking. Too—” Tony paused, finger pressing to his lips as he searched for a word. “ _Alien_.”

“Alien?” Clint raised an eyebrow, propping his legs up on the table and ignoring how Natasha swatted at him for it. Next to them, Bucky smirked fondly at their antics. “Care to elaborate there, Stark?”

Tony turned, flicking his wrists in a way that managed to conjure up an entire screen. It was full of scans labelled with dates from a little over a week ago— hot spots shaped like people. As Steve’s eyes scrolled down, he noticed something off— it was too tall, limbs exaggerated and stringy in awkward places to be human. As the timestamps on the bottom of the scans carried on, the shape adapted. Despite being a few degrees cooler initially in comparison to the other bodies, even that difference seemed to evaporate— leaving no trace of something strange at all in their midst.

Clint’s eyes noticeably widened from where he sat across from Steve at the conference table. He whistled. “Well, shit.”

“So, we know it can adapt,” Natasha stated coolly in comparison. “Body temperature, shape— it just needed time.”

“It’s intelligent,” Bucky added. “It has to be here for a reason.”

Steve agreed, sure to mention there was still a chance it could just need their help, warning they should all keep an open mind. Both Natasha and Bucky gave Steve a tolerant look— Steve realizing their experience often proved that was rarely the case. Bucky blinked first, nodding.

“It’s a possibility,” he defended Steve, even if it was only half-hearted.

“Aliens, really?” Clint groaned in contribution. “Didn’t we just deal with some a couple weeks ago?”

“Not _aliens_. Just one.” Natasha corrected him. “That we know of. “ Clint didn’t look comforted by the notion at all.

“Nervous it’ll outsmart you, Barton?” Tony tossed over his shoulder, eyes still scanning the screen. “It is an intelligent lifeform, after all.”

“Oh, ha,” Clint leaned back in his chair, throwing an arm around the back of Natasha’s seat. “Maybe if it copies you, it’ll get your height right, because you let tell you, heels don’t—”

“Boys,” Natasha cut them off. Her face hardened ever so slightly, trying to cover any trace of amusement. Her bottom lip twitched. A subtle sign that Steve learned to read over time, though not as well as Clint. Clint grinned at the victory, big and happy despite the severe atmosphere.

On the other hand, Bucky did not look as carefree. There was a dark edge to his eyes that always appeared at the mention of a struggle, of combat. It no longer stayed around for weeks on end like it used to, but Steve still wanted to chase it away and remove Bucky from the danger. He hated watching Bucky get pushed below the surface, only for something unrelenting like instinct to take his place.

“We don’t know what it wants. Could be hostile, might not be. And you’re calling us here for… what? To tell us we should watch our backs?” Steve looked at Tony.

“Essentially,” Tony shrugged. “I’ll have Jarvis contact Thor in London, keep him updated in case things go south. Just go about your day per usual, keeping in mind that— well, you know. There’s probably a chance that our unwanted houseguest might be the guy next to you. Except for now. Had Jarvis scan everyone in the room just a minute ago anddd—” he made a gesture like turning a page, showing briefly the reports of the room’s occupants “—you all check out.”

“Why not do that for everyone in the building, then?” Clint asked.

“Because,” Tony sighed, as though it was obvious. “The first few levels of this tower are pretty open to the public. People come in and out all of the time, and that many heat signatures— all crammed together? Jarvis is good— clearly, I made him— but he’s not that good.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis commented dryly.

Tony pointed up to the disembodied voice, nodding, as if saying “see?”

“From what I can tell, the thing adapts. It studies and must be doing a decent job at playing human if it isn’t sticking out at us like a sore thumb. But there are slightly fluctuations— it seems to only be able to copy on a superficial level.”

“It could have left,” Natasha put forward.

Tony scoffed at the notion. “Why would it? Why break into the tower in the first place?”

“It doesn’t know what we’re thinking, then? It’s not… one of us,” Bucky asked. Steve perked up, hearing him speak.

“If it was, and it wanted trouble—” Tony paused, thinking about it. “Well, we’d probably be getting a decent dose of it now if it knew how to hack my suits. So, no. For the time being, I’m going to say all your deep dark Soviet secrets are safe, Barnes.”

Bucky scowled, turning away from the front and lowering his head. Steve fought the urge to reach across the table and touch him as a reminder it’s okay to be angry— especially with Tony’s lack of brain to mouth filter. They’d already gotten past the stage where the team was wary of Bucky snapping or getting triggered, and his stay at Avengers tower was less of a mandatory requirement and more of an invitation. Trust was finally being built as Bucky stopped being a last resort, and more of a first pick for missions.

“It might not want trouble, Stark,” Steve repeated, glaring in Bucky’s place. It was enough to get Bucky to look at him— misguided as he may be, he thought Bucky’s lips managed to flicker into a smile, if only for a moment.

 

* * *

 

As if on cue, Bucky showed up on his floor for a round of pacing. After failed attempts of trying to get Bucky to sit, or Steve’s offers to heat him up leftovers from the other day or get him something to drink, Steve took to the couch and read for a good hour before peeking up from his book. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Bucky still unsettled.

“You’re going to wear out the carpet,” Steve said, voice low in a way to avoid startling him. The words caused Bucky to stop and shoot a skeptical look. In the end, Bucky didn’t seem to care about Steve’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“I know you’re worked up, Buck,” Steve stood, approaching him. His hands remained where Bucky could see. Lately they’d worked on relearning when touch is okay, and when it was too much. Resting his hand on Bucky’s stiff right shoulder, it took only seconds before Bucky relaxed into it, welcoming. Steve was glad. A calmness washed over Bucky, his body losing the tension and Steve felt some sort of accomplishment.

A little bold, and a little worried, he told Bucky he could stay on the couch tonight, if he wanted to keep an eye on Steve— one of the easiest ways, Steve had learned, to convince Bucky to stay right where Steve could see him. Both knew it was all just a game, willing to play it until someone broke the spell and said something. Bucky took him up on the offer, and that was the last clear thing Steve could remember. The rest was blurred.

He couldn't’ recall if it was his other hand going up to rest on Bucky’s left shoulder that happened first, or if it was the second visitor of the night that did it, but Steve was suddenly and violently aware of the give of Bucky’s left shoulder— Bucky, who had taken to wearing the cloaking device on his left arm nonstop— soft, like it was made of flesh and bone. Warm, for the first time in this century.

Steve remembered the face morphing, Bucky’s features fading into the ones Steve saw in the mirror every morning. Another knock. Whoever it was must have been certain Steve would be in.

 _Bucky,_ he knew. Steve wanted to warn him before the fist from his peripheral made an impact and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

It was disorienting, waking up in the dark. His first thought was he must be blindfolded. His arms, free at his sides, touched his face. Nothing. Eyes blinking and adjusting, it occurred to him as the seconds ticked by that he could make out the shapes in Bucky’s bedroom— straight from his memory and clear as day. Hands pressing back down to his sides, he recognized Bucky’s duvet. It explained the sinking feeling— Bucky favored softer mattresses to help with the prosthetic drilled into his spine, a constant source of playful arguments when it came to figuring out whose bed they were going to stay in for the night. He couldn’t breathe for a moment under the sharp nostalgia.

Despite how often he’d lost those arguments and spent hours struggling to get comfortable, Steve didn’t think he had ever been happier.

There was a dull ache at the back of his head. He rubbed his fingers at the base of his skull. No blood or bumps, only residual pain. Throwing his legs over the edge of the mattress, the sound of rustling bedsheets gave Steve away and he found himself faced with Bucky in the doorway, white as a ghost.

“Steve,” he breathed. The relief oozed out of Bucky, making him relax enough that his shoulders slouched comfortably. He put his face into his hands, keeping his distance and laughing silently. “Jesus, you’re awake. Thank god. How's your head?”

It might have been the way Steve could see the love, tangible and evident in Bucky’s relief, or the way Bucky always tried to laugh through the pain— a trait Steve found strange— but Steve ached and longed, suddenly beyond the threshold of bone-deep tired. It was exhausting after all, being proved over and over again that he could never have what he wanted.

His mother didn’t say the exact words to him, so it was a lesson Steve had learned: wait for the right person. Even now, the idea that he should wait for the right partner seemed to apply to him, and he didn’t know whose voice it was in his head, but it warned if not Bucky— if he didn’t want those things with Bucky, or didn’t want them with Peggy… then there had to be someone else out there.

When he was just a wiry kid with a mouthful of grass and mud, Steve Rogers met James Buchanan Barnes. Years later, still so skinny and bursting at the seams, and suddenly there was Agent Peggy Carter. If not them, then Steve knew there could never be anyone else. He didn’t want there to be.

“The alien? Where…?”

“It’s taken care of, Jesus. Steve.” Bucky rubbed his own face in disbelief. “The rest of the team is looking into it. But, you just got knocked out by an alien and you haven't even told me if you're okay yet.”

Glancing around the room, at anything other than the disheveled person in front of him, Steve set his jaw and braced himself. “How’d you know it wasn’t me?”

“Well, I’d like to say I just knew— something about how we’ve been with each other all these years and I could tell it was off, but honestly,” Bucky laughed, scratching the back of his neck and glancing away, “It was when it made a grab for my skivvies.”

Steve’s face dropped. “Oh.”

Laughter filled with nerves, Bucky flushed. “We— give me some credit here. I ain’t so lonely that I’d let an alien with your face have their way with me.”

Steve’s mouth went dry— he hadn’t forgotten. He knew this was difficult, for the both of them— but he was a stranger to the concept of the two of them, alone together. Lines close but never touching. Assuming Bucky was lonely was one thing, but hearing the confession was another. Testing as he did earlier with the imposter, Steve crossed the room and found a similar reaction: Bucky tensed before soaking in the warmth Steve’s large hand provided on his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Steve managed— the only thing he could give Bucky at the moment. Bucky shook his head, dismissing it.

“Nothing you did,” he shrugged. “I’m a little— don’t know. But I’m getting there.”

Steve nodded, trying to follow the fragments. “Me too.”

“Would have... if a little crush ruined— I mean, we managed to get through all the shit the 20th century threw at us, a couple near-death experiences.” Bucky grinned, tinged with unhappiness. “And I’m just... glad we’re— that the two of us are bigger than all of that.”

Steve really had missed something.

“‘ _Little crush_ ’?” he parroted back. “Buck, I— I _love_ you.”

Bucky nodded. “I know, you told me.”

“And I meant it.”

“Never called you a liar, Steve.” He deflected, shifting back on the balls of his feet. “Well, maybe a couple times back in the day— there was the time you insisted that newsboy hat Katie Cochrane got me as a joke for my birthday looked awful when I had on good authority—”

“Buck, not as a friend,” Steve interrupted. He was sure Bucky knew— thought it was clear, but the fact that Bucky froze up told another story.

“But you said—” Bucky’s voice shook. “You said you didn’t want me. We didn’t want the same things.”

“No,” he gritted out— but looking back, Steve realized he did say those words. “I didn’t mean it, not like that.” He swallowed.

“Dammit,” Bucky’s head stretched back, exposing so much bare throat that Steve couldn’t look away. His Adam’s apple bobbed, Steve captured by the motion. “Then what did you mean?”

“I don’t want— what you want.”

Bucky lifted his head to give a quizzical look. “What do you think I’m after, anyway?”

“Sex.”

Bucky blinked back the surprise. “Well, eventually. Yeah. I’d like that.” He settled his feet back on the floor as though he didn’t plan to go anywhere anytime soon. Steve’s arm fell down to his side.

Steve took a deep breath, and it felt like. It was rejection all over again. “Then you’re going to have to find someone else.” 

 _You are not enough._ Everyone had told him this once. Not always in so many words. For the jobs he applied for that depended on able bodies, employers unable to see just how strong Steve Rogers really was. Girls in their discomfort at his awkward manner. The army on their enlistment forms, Colonel Phillips when he’d asked for an army and only got him instead. To not be enough for Bucky, though— that was a new sting altogether.

“Why?” Bucky took the initiative this time, rushing towards Steve and clutching at his arms before Steve could pull too far away. “I want you. Why would I need anybody else?”

“You’re the most important person in my life, but not even for you. I don’t feel that way. ” His voice sounded flat to his own ears. Bucky’s grip relaxed. “I don’t want to sleep with you. Or anybody else.”

“Not that I’m sayin’ I’m irresistible, don’t get me wrong,” Bucky paused, one side of his mouth lifting for Steve’s benefit. “But just because you don’t wanna with me doesn’t mean—”

“Not like I haven’t thought about it. Being with you.” The tips of Steve’s ears heated. Bucky beamed, a little too smug with himself at this confession. “But I don’t want anyone else. That much hasn’t changed. And I don’t think— this is something another person can fix.”

“Fix....? Woah.” A cold finger tucked under Steve’s chin. He hadn’t realized he’d lowered his head. At eye level, the expression on Bucky’s face was soft with concern. “Bud, who said anything about fixing?”

“The serum was supposed to make good great,” Steve recited for him, Erskine’s words still floating around in his head like a promise, a mantra. Despite its failure to deliver. “It was supposed to make me—”

 _Better?_ he wondered. But he didn’t feel sick, not like he used to. In fact, he’d be fine. He’d be better if it didn’t affect—

Bucky’s posture straightened, shoulders lifting high as he took a deep breath. “But you’re okay.” He paused. “I liked— hell, I _still_ like sex, Steve. But I’m not some fourteen year old boy, no matter what you think.”

Steve snorted, Bucky appearing pleased before he continued. “But, when we were kids— you never… showed an interest and I figured—”

“Because I wasn’t interested,” Steve reminded him, not wanting the fact glossed over. “I—”

“Can you stop for just a second, babydoll?” Bucky strained. The nickname did its job, stalling Steve. “I’m trying to get to the point where I say I don’t care. I wanted you before I ever even cared about sex.”

“But you care now,” Steve pointed out.

“And I care about you more.”

Steve searched his brain, feeling pinned and not ready to step over the brink, give in to this chance of happiness. Searching for any reason at all, he insisted that Bucky didn't have to settle on him.

“Settle on Steve Rogers?” Bucky put his hands on Steve’s hips to close the distance, looking genuinely puzzled at the idea. “Is that even possible?”

 

* * *

 

It took weeks of experimentation and negotiation, but the moment Steve fell into Bucky’s bed, wrestling and locking his legs around him from underneath Bucky’s solid weight, Steve couldn’t believe how heavy the fear of expectation had been. Agreeing to take it slow, Bucky still made those hungry noises when they kissed for hours, and Steve hated how Bucky apologized now when he caught himself, sometimes before Steve even had a chance to notice.

“You can kiss me,” Steve had to say in his apartment on that first day they’d talked— really talked. But now when he said it, it was like a challenge, a deep growl in his throat and Bucky always rose to meet it.

Flipping them over, Steve’s chest slammed into Bucky’s. He recalled the ghost of two bodies that had haunted him, moving and rolling— not so different from how they moved now, but Bucky laughed this time, shoving at Steve’s shoulders.

Last week in the kitchen, Steve had been mixing a salad when he stopped and asked randomly if Bucky was happy. Bucky didn’t give up his search for their favorite dressings. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Steve set down the carrot he was grating, clenched fists resting on the counter. “What if one day you aren’t? What if one day you decide it’s not worth it?”

“You’ve always been trouble.” Bucky’s voice was muffled as he dug further into the fridge, the hum distorting his voice slightly. “And I’ve known you for so goddamn long. If you weren’t worth it, I’d hope I’ve got brain enough to have figured this out years ago and dropped your sorry ass.” His socks slid against the linoleum, Bucky’s arms swinging out, ranch and raspberry vinaigrette in hand, in an attempt to balance himself. Steve liked that, how Bucky— so called ghost of Hydra, the one so many girls wanted to dance with— could still do things like slip around on smooth surfaces, always glancing around after in the hope his reputation was still safe. In Steve’s hands, it was.

Pleased with himself, a little swing in his hips, Bucky marched past Steve to put the dressings on their respective sides of the table: vinaigrette for Bucky, the ranch for Steve.

“And if I still think you’re the best damn thing I’ve ever had in my life after all these years and I’m wrong, chances are I’m never gonna learn any better.” He nudged Steve’s side with his elbow and smiled where he was sure Steve could catch it. 

On the bed, Steve made the first move, framing Bucky’s face with his hands as Bucky settled on the mattress. Steve was careful not to tug on the long hair splayed out on the pillow. Bucky repeated how he would get it cut, but it became more of a saying and less of a promise. Not quite long enough to throw back into a ponytail, too short to be pulled back and out of the way. Steve didn’t mind either way as he tucked a strand behind Bucky’s ears.

The tender gesture made Bucky stop wiggling against him. His lips parted in anticipation.

“Seriously, Buck,” Steve started again, providing another chance of escape before kissing him. “You could be with anyone you want.”

“Are you teasin’ me?” Bucky frowned, disappointment clear in the lack of kissing. “Because last I checked, good ‘ol Rita Hayworth wasn’t taking any calls.”

Steve frowned, thinking too much. Bucky giving better than he got, Bucky’s own satisfaction of little consequence as long as Steve was happy. It was up to Bucky to act. His knees bent, keeping Steve steady where he was, Bucky touched Steve’s side playfully for a moment. Trailing up his ribs, both metal and flesh hands alike eventually reached up and cupped the back of Steve’s neck. Steve shivered at the sensation, at the two conflicting temperatures.

“Dummy,” Bucky said, with nothing but affection. “I already am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "We do not belong together" from _Sunday in the Park with George_.
> 
> There's a lot more to asexuality than what is shown in this fic— Steve lands in his own particular space in the spectrum (starting near sex-repulsed and going into general disinterest), and as we're always told, no two people are the same! There are plenty of resources online to learn more, and my inbox is always open either here or on my [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!


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